


Something wicked this way comes

by lola381pce



Series: Welcome to my nightmare [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers
Genre: Awesome Phil Coulson, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fear, Gen, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Past Violence, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-20 23:42:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1530113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce/pseuds/lola381pce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A nightmare can be defined as "An unpleasant dream that can cause a strong emotional response from the mind typically fear or horror but also despair, anxiety and great sadness" - source unknown. Steve, Clint, Bruce, Tony and Leo have all suffered from nightmares that have shaken them to the core and had Phil Coulson not been there to comfort them and help them through it, who knows what could have happened in the real world away from the relative safety of the Avengers Tower or S.H.I.E.L.D.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Steve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dhae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dhae/gifts).



> To Dhae, who was worried enough about the boys to ask about a sequel – “I find it hard to believe…that Coulson would ignore the guys and leave them to fend for themselves when the night terrors struck.”
> 
> You’re right; Coulson would never leave the guys to suffer if it was within his power to help them, so for you Dhae, here's the story the boys' nightmares and how Phil takes care of them. Hope you enjoy :)
> 
> As always, the characters belong to Marvel, the rest is me having fun. Thanks for reading and please feel free to leave comments - it helps to know what you think :)
> 
> 'Something wicked this way comes' - Ray Bradbury.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having slumbered for seventy years in Antarctica, Steve Rogers very rarely sleeps by necessity. The occasions when he does sometimes lead to frightening bouts of nightmares about all the things he’s lost in his life.

Steve was standing in the kitchen trying to make a pot of coffee but Tony’s advanced technology and his own shaking hands were thwarting his efforts. In a sudden bout of frustration borne by a sleep filled with nightmares he cried out and threw the machine at the wall watching wretchedly as it exploded in all directions. He stood with his hands on the work surface knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists trying to control his emotions.  


Phil entered the kitchen and surveyed the damage.  He walked over to put a comforting hand on Steve’s shoulder giving it a gentle squeeze. The super soldier looked at the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent his eyes wide and frightened, his hands still trembling.

“Come with me,” he said to him softly.

Steve pushed himself away from the counter and followed Phil out of the communal area.

“Where are we going?”

“My room. I want to show you something.”

Steve paused for a second as did Phil.

“No, I mean I have something that you might like to hold…to touch…to make you feel better.”

Even though he’s still working through the remnants of his nightmare, Steve raised and eyebrow and managed a small smile. He knows there is no sexual connotation in either sentence but he’s been around Tony too long now and the double entendres popped into his mind automatically.

Phil blushed pink and sighed…although the fanboy gushing has long since ceased (mainly due to being subjected to the footage Tony Stark had of him from the Quinjet that he and Clint bring up from time to time) he still got tongue tied on occasion when he’s with his boyhood hero and words he meant innocently just seemed to come out wrong.

“Please, come with me” he asks in firm yet calm tone, in charge of himself once again.

Steve nods still with a small smile ghosting his lips and without further incident they make it to Phil’s room. He’s never been here before and looks round. Like the agent himself, it’s orderly and precise with nothing out of place. Phil goes to a cupboard and brings out a box. Without speaking he leaves the room and again Steve trails after him like an obedient puppy through to the living area shared by Natasha, Clint and Phil.

Phil placed the box down on the coffee table and as he seated himself on the couch he opened the lid. Peering in he took out the first item, unwrapped it reverently from its packaging and handed it to Steve with a shy grin. It’s radio watch.

Steve sat beside him and looked at it; he smiled. He handled it carefully examining it, turning round in his hand.

“A radio watch,” he says wistfully “They only made 20 of these, I think.”

Phil nods and hands him the next item, accepting the watch back with his other hand. It’s a pair of pilot goggles. He tells Steve the history of the goggles, where he got them, how long he’s had them as once again the soldier handles them with care. It’s clear from the way they’ve been stored the items mean a great deal to the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent so he treats them with respect.

They work their way through the box – a compass, a signed baseball in a Perspex case, a needle gun, a wireless radio, a telescope…other items from bygone eras, much like the Captain himself, until the box is empty and Steve has put the nightmare behind him. He looked at the senior agent gratefully and quietly thanked him for his patience and understanding.

Phil pushed himself off the couch and once again laid his hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Stay as long as you want,” he told him leaving the box on the table making his way through to bed. Steve was touched by the trust which Phil had placed in him by leaving his most valued possessions with him and feeling a lightness he hasn’t experienced for a while sifted through them once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't remember the era of the radio watch, if it's the 1940s or the 1960s, but for this fic I've made it the 1940s and Steve is aware of them. 
> 
> Update: the 'walkie talkie wrist watch' was made in Poland in 1936 (Marvel Cinematic Universe - wikia)


	2. Clint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The memories of violence and abuse in Clint’s early life, sometimes takes its toll on the archer’s mind resulting in horrendous night terrors which shake him to the core.

Phil figured he still had a few hours of working late in his office ahead of him when he knew Clint was in trouble. He grabbed his jacket from the back of his seat ad tore out of the room scattering anyone in his way. He ran to his S.H.I.E.L.D. assigned vehicle and screamed out of the garage, sparks flaring from the chassis, heading as fast as he could drive to Avenger’s Tower. There was very little traffic on the road and he pushed the saloon as hard as he dared in the built-up area, tyres squealing as he braked heavily into the corners the corners, engine roaring as he accelerated out of them.  

He made it there in an incredibly short time even though it felt like an eternity. He skidded to a halt in the garage smoking the tyres and leaving black rubber marks on the concrete. He leapt out of the car, slamming the door behind him not bothering to lock it, not caring to lock it.

It seemed to take forever for J.A.R.V.I.S. to reach their floor and he fidgeted impatiently as the elevator rose up through the building until finally the doors pinged open.

He headed to Clint’s room throwing open the door to find it empty. Troubled, Phil went to his own room and quickly stripped out of his clothes and changed into his worn Army Rangers t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants knowing the soft feel of the shirt comforted Clint. Barefoot he returned to Barton’s room, leapt up to the air-vent pushing it open and hauled himself through. He spotted Barton immediately, curled up into a foetal position with his back against the panel, trembling. Slowly, so as not to spook the specialist, Coulson crawled along the vent until he reached him and sat beside him, his hand resting gently on Barton’s leg. Clint whimpered.

“I’m here Clint,” he whispered softly.

The whimper turned into a sob and even though it didn’t seem physically possible, Clint pulled himself into a tighter ball shaking as the sobs racked his body.

Phil closed his eyes, lips pressed together in a hard line, his mouth curved downwards, feeling Clint’s pain wishing he could lay his hands on the people who did this to him; Barney, Trickshot, the foster carers and the multitudes of others who’d abused the archer over his lifetime.

There was a slight movement as Clint shifted position pulling away from the panel to leave a small gap. Phil picked up the cue and squeezed into it effectively spooning the archer. He wrapped his arms round and held him, not speaking, not offering empty words of sympathy; just holding him. Slowly Phil’s reassuring presence and slow, measured breathing began to calm Clint. The shaking subsided; the sobs hitched back into whimpers and gradually fell into silence. The nightmare, although not forgotten, was under control for a little while and Clint fell asleep in Phil’s embrace.


	3. Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were nightmares and there were nightmares that brought the Other Guy out and when the Other Guy was in a rage lives could be lost and buildings could be damaged…no-one should live with that kind of guilt.

“J.A.R.V.I.S. I really need to you to get me to Dr Banner as soon as you can.”

“Understood, Agent Coulson.”

He felt a burst of speed in the elevator as it headed to Bruce’s floor bypassing all others.

“I detected a change in his physical makeup a few moments ago, Sir. If you hadn’t appeared when you did, I would have contacted you.”

“Thanks J.A.R.V.I.S. How is he?”

“Heart rate elevated, blood pressure and temperature rising, body mass beginning to increase. He’s very agitated, Sir. The nightmare appears to have been a bad one.”

Phil nodded thoughtfully. “Is he in the tank?”

“Not yet, Sir.”

At that the elevator arrived at Bruce’s floor and the doors pinged open. Coulson ran along to Bruce’s lab tearing off his tie and jacket as he moved. He dropped them outside the door and removed his gun checking it was safe before laying it carefully on top of his jacket along with his extra clip. He unfastened his cuffs and the top couple of buttons on his shirt pulling it over his head toeing off his shoes at the same time. Next came his suit pants and socks. Clad in only his boxers he cautiously opened the door to the lab and peered round scanning for Bruce.

The scientist was restless and angry, pacing the room growling and when he spotted the figure in the doorway; he threw a microscope at him. Phil instinctively ducked back outside managing to close the door just before the instrument struck and exploded everywhere.  He was thankful that Bruce’s change wasn’t much further on or it would have knocked a hole through it.  He tried again and entered the lab, deftly avoiding the broken parts of the equipment on the floor wincing as he saw the enormous dent in the door. That would have smarted.

Bruce glared at him, nostrils flaring, panting heavily but at least this time didn’t throw anything. His fists were clenched and his whole body was rigid, the muscles tensed into tight knots.  From the doorway Phil could see that his eyes were starting to turn green – not a good sign. On the plus side, his clothing was still intact and there was no discernible tearing noise from the seams for which Phil was truly grateful. It gave him a few minutes either to talk Bruce/Hulk down or convince him to enter the tank in case the Other Guy made an appearance.  

“Dr Banner,” he said softly. “Bruce.”

He snarled at the agent.

“Bruce, it’s Phil. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m unarmed. I’m alone.”

He turned slowly as he spoke with arms out by his sides, palms facing forward to let him see he had no weapons hidden about his person. It was fairly obvious why uniforms made the Other Guy anxious (thank you General Ross) however since the Battle of New York it appeared that suits had a similar effect. Although Phil was now only one of three people who could talk the human side of the doctor into staying present when The Hulk tried making an appearance, the first time Phil attempted to talk him down he went into a rage apparently when he saw the suit. They’d never quite established why it set him off, Bruce could never entirely understand the reasoning himself; hence the reason for Phil shedding his clothes.

“Talk to me, Bruce” he said softly.

Bruce/Hulk bared his teeth in another snarl and began to walk towards Phil his eyes narrowed, his aggressive demeanour meant to intimidate the agent. Fortunately, this was Phil Coulson and not some rookie on his first rodeo. He held his ground and continued to speak in a carefully measured tone.

“Talk to me. Tell me about India."

Bruce/Hulk hesitated, pausing in mid-stride. He cocked his head to the side and stared at Phil who carefully pulled a lab chair over and sat astride it elbows resting on the back looking at the floor appearing as non-threatening as he could.

“Talk to me, Bruce” his voice calm and soothing, almost hypnotic.

The green tinge to his eyes began to recede and, between the lull of Phil’s voice and the thought of India, his breathing was becoming more even. As the tension began to fall from his shoulders, Bruce pulled over another lab chair and sat opposite Phil, straddling it like him and began to talk about his time travelling and working in the country that helped keep him sane for a long time.


	4. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like everyone, Tony Stark (genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist) has his demons but when you’ve been blown up in Afghanistan, you’re still alive because an electromagnet is keeping shrapnel out of your heart, and your mentor and friend has tried to kill you, the nightmares have to be pretty extreme to make you think about literally letting go and letting yourself plummet over the edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will update the tags but this chapter has thoughts of suicide.

Phil jerked awake, snapping his head up from his arms groaning at the crick in his neck; he’d fallen asleep at his desk…again. At least he was at the Tower this time and had had the sense to change from his suit into jeans and a t-shirt; last time he’d almost strangled himself with his tie. He sat up and stretched slowly releasing the knots in his neck and shoulders one at a time then, abruptly, he stopped. Tony!

Not bothering to stop for shoes or a jacket, he headed barefoot for the elevator.

“Good morning, Agent Coulson. Sir is on the landing deck.”

“Morning, J.A.R.V.I.S. Thank you.“  He rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock in the elevator; 03:27hrs.

The doors opened into the penthouse and Phil made his way through the room, pausing for a second to pick up a couple of supplies before continuing out to the landing deck. Tony was perched on the edge with his legs hanging into space, his arms open wide leaning forwards daring gravity to take him. Phil kept back and watched not wanting to approach him while he was teetering on the brink thinking about letting himself go. Eventually Tony screamed at the top of his lungs and threw himself backwards his upper body smashing onto the deck. He lay there with his chest heaving as he choked back sobs of fear and anger and hurt.

Phil gave him a few moments to get control over his emotions then walked towards him, bottle of whisky and two glasses in his hands. He sat down beside him on the landing deck, legs dangling over the side and poured a generous measure of amber liquid into a glass holding it in front of him. Tony sat up and reached out accepting it with a nod then waited. Phil poured another and they tapped the rims of the glasses together each taking a drink. Phil didn’t mention the trembling of Tony’s hand or the tears slowly making their way down his face; Tony was grateful for that and for having the quiet, calm presence of Agent beside him. Neither spoke, just looked out over the great expanse of New York City slowly coming alive as the sun rose.


	5. Leo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leo Fitz, may have been a science rock star at S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy who graduated three years early, may have been recruited by Phil Coulson for an elite new team, may have faced danger in the jungles of Peru and the border of South Ossetia all of which caused him a few sleepless nights but it wasn't until Grant Douglas Ward, H.Y.D.R.A. agent, let him down that the nightmares truly started.

Ward lifted his sidearm and pointed it at Fitz.

“You’re the worst agent ever, you weedy little bastard. You never belonged in the field. I mean, who brings a sandwich on mission? You’re a joke. You would never have saved Jemma. You let Skye get shot. What use are you? You didn’t even know I was H.Y.D.R.A.  Little bear? Little fuck-up more like. I’m just putting you out of your misery,” and he laughed as he pulled the trigger.

Fitz woke up, sweat pouring down his face and body. He could still see the look on Ward’s face; hear his cruel words. He took a few shaky breaths and sat up in his bunk resting his forehead on his knees. 

“Oh fuck,” he whispered, trembling.

After a few moments when he felt the tremors were under control, he drew back the covers and climbed out of bed. He headed towards the galley for a glass of water and stood at the sink breathing slowly in through his nose and out through his mouth trying to stave off a panic attack. He didn’t notice that Phil had joined him until the senior agent put a can of soda beside him.

“Bloody hell, sir!” he yelped leaping like a scalded cat. “Oh my god! Seriously…my actual god! Irn Bru! Where did you get this?”

Inscrutable Phil said nothing just raised an eyebrow with a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he leaned his ass against the cabinets with his arms folded over his chest.  He huffed out a laugh as Fitz popped the can and took a long swallow of the bright orange liquid then let out a contented sigh followed by an almighty burp.

“Oops!” he grinned. “Sorry.”

“Talk to me, Leo,” Phil said softly.

Fitz paused, the smile melting from his face. He looked at the floor not meeting Phil’s eyes. He didn’t speak, couldn’t speak. Phil let the silence draw out until eventually Fitz began to talk.

“I’m not a bad person, Agent Coulson. I’m really not. At least I didn’t think I was. But I’m not sure anymore. I’m not sure about anything now. Maybe I’ve been bad all along. The I.C.E.R., the anti-serum delivery mechanism, the golden retrievers; they were supposed to be for the good guys. I made them to fight against people like H.Y.D.R.A. but they’ve been here all along working alongside us; people I trusted, people I thought I could count on. It was all a joke. A big, fucking joke!”

His voice cracked on the last few words and tears tumbled down his cheeks. Fitz looked lost; he looked lost and bewildered and hurt.

Phil pushed off the cabinets and laid a hand on the devastated Scot’s shoulder. Fitz leaned into his chest, knuckles white as he held onto the senior agent and cried, huge gut wrenching sobs that shook his entire body. Phil pulled him into a hug one hand resting on the back of his neck the other holding the engineer against him as Fitz let all his grief and fear pour out. They stood like that until the tears began to subside and the tension drained from Fitz’s body.

“I’m so-o-o sorry, sir. I’ve snottered down your shirt.” He said finally pulling back from the agent wiping his hand across his eyes.

“I don’t know what that means,” Phil replied frowning slightly.

“Really runny snot…you know, slimy bogies..sn…”

“I get it, Fitz…thanks! I think you got my tie too,” said Phil sadly, looking down at the glistening trail on it.

Fitz snorted out a small laugh. He didn’t feel better but he felt he could cope knowing that Coulson was there beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who have never seen it let alone tried it, Irn-Bru, or to give it its less formal name, Bru is a phenomenal drink made in Scotland. It's been known to cure hangovers, ease wind/gas and bridge cultural barriers. Irn-Bru gets you through!


End file.
